


Jubjub Birds

by rameseas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Movies)
Genre: AU, Brothers, Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, Swan Lake - Freeform, crossovers galore~, kingdom hearts - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 16,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rameseas/pseuds/rameseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A conglomeration of AU drabbles and oneshots of varying lengths and ratings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Same Difference

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, these are my brain children. They're the stories that are grand and infinitely long in my head, but because I don't have the time to write them that way, they come out in short spurts like this. I hope you enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Swan Lake.

He’ll catch himself thinking about that funny boy down by the lake, the shock of pale skin and eyes so green they put emeralds to shame. Some nights, he’ll meander through the forest at odd hours just so that he might be able to get a glimpse of that beauty, so supernatural and breathtaking he thinks he might be imagining it. It’s only when Tony finds himself on the verge of shooting this beautiful, _beautiful_ boy in the heart that he realizes it’s _not_ a boy he’s been chasing after, but a swan. A curse. A boy. A swan.

Same difference, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	2. Episkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t know why Loki’s always so concerned about running away, and it almost scares him to think of the dark things that run through his friend’s head like Muggle children on a playground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter crossover. How original.

“What if we ran away?”

Tony glances up at his dorm mate, takes in the detached look in Loki’s pale eyes, the altogether _otherness_ about him. He doesn’t know why Loki’s always so concerned about running away, and it almost scares him to think of the dark things that run through his friend’s head like Muggle children on a playground. He frowns.

“From Hogwarts?” he asks in a way he knows hooks Loki’s attention, makes the boy think about just how insane he can be when he gets to thinking so hard, “Fat chance of that.”

And then Loki looks at him, deep and knowing and hurt, and all Tony can think about is how the green of his scarf makes his eyes pop and how sometimes it hurts that they can’t touch with Remy and Wade constantly cramping their space and how the winter looks so nice on Loki it’s almost disgusting.

But then he’s not thinking, because Loki is in his bed and they’re kissing like the dormitory is completely empty, soft enough so that nobody hears. Tony knows Loki won’t run away, not if he’s not coming with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	3. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s when they’re halfway through the Underworld that Steve realizes that Thor and Tony are his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kingdom Hearts crossover. Behold my nerdiness.

It’s when they’re halfway through the Underworld that Steve realizes that Thor and Tony are his friends, his real _friends_ , and that he doesn’t have to worry about being brave and strong around them all the damn time. Sure, they’re nothing like Bucky and Peggy ever were, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be just as great, if not better.

He stops like he’s hit an invisible wall, stricken, and it takes a few moments for Thor and Tony to stop arguing about which of them is the better sidekick (ugh, _God_ ) and notice that  Steve’s just standing there, gazing at them like they’re the sun and stars to his moonlight.

“What’s up?” Tony says, just as Thor is asking, “Something the matter?”

Steve smiles, gathers them both into a hug and says, “I love you guys,” like it’s the last time he’ll ever see the two of them.

And then Tony laughs, awkward but genuine, and Thor is taking the hug into his own hands and squeezing the life out of his companions as he chuckles, “I believe I speak for both Tony and I when I say we love you, too.”

Steve knows the Keyblade on his back isn’t the only thing keeping Tony and Thor with him. That makes him smile, it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	4. The Greenest of Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One minute he was being downright owned by a swarm of these vicious little fuckers, the next he’s watching his enemy take care of him, fire and ice in the wake of his every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Kingdom Hearts crossover series.

He doesn’t know how he ends up cowering to the ground as another one of those faceless black coats dances around the dark corridor of the Underworld, icing every Heartless that comes within three feet of him. One minute he was being downright _owned_ by a swarm of these vicious little fuckers, the next he’s watching his enemy take care of him, fire and ice in the wake of his every step. Holy crap.

“I had that whole situation under control, y’know?” he finds himself blurting out once the very last Heartless has fallen. His adversary turns to him, face still shrouded in darkness, and Tony scowls when the bitch _laughs_ , smooth and melodious like a violin.

“Not from where I’m standing,” the coat replies, and then he throws his hood back to reveal the most striking sight Tony’s ever seen. His face is all sharp angles and black and white and green, and there’s something in his eyes that’s familiar in a way that makes Tony’s stomach churn.

“Who are you?” Tony asks, fist clenching around the hilt of his gunblade, ready to attack.

The Nobody facing him laughs again, his mouth curling into a smirk that does ugly things to Tony’s heartbeat, and then they’re suddenly only inches apart, and Tony’s staring into the greenest of green and trying not to flinch as this _thing_ reaches out to run gloved fingers along his jaw, intimate in a way that would normally have Tony throwing punches.

“A friend of a friend,” the Nobody says, watching him with thinly cloaked interest and hunger. He goes still for a moment before stepping away, effortlessly opening a portal behind him as he adds, “You need to watch your back a bit more carefully. I won’t always be there to baby you, Tony.”

And then he’s gone, taking with him the entirety of the breath left in Tony’s lungs.

He needs to find Steve and Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, he wishes Tony never had to go back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony and Loki are teenagers and they are dating. I'm going to say that this is part of a HS!AU series in case it pops up again.

“You really shouldn’t be here.”

“Do you think I care?” is Tony’s incredibly sarcastic response. He waits until Loki’s got the window shut before he just grabs him, holds him from behind and buries his face in his neck to press sloppy, openmouthed kisses there that Loki thinks are both gross and amazing. Do you see what this relationship is doing to him?

“Tony, I could get in a lot of trouble for this,” he points out, twisting in his boyfriend’s arms to wrap his own around his neck, contradicting his statement. That’s when he sees the darkness ringing Tony’s right eye, and he knows it’s happened again.

“So could I,” Tony retorts breathily, ignoring the way Loki’s face goes pale and his eyes go wide at the state of him. He presses their faces together, kisses against Loki’s lips once, twice, three times and more until the boy finally surrenders and lets him take him to bed.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” Loki whispers as Tony tugs his shirt over his head. He notices the way his boyfriend is shaking as he sheds his shirt as well, and he leans forward and up to press an impulsive, feather-light kiss to Tony’s blackened eye.

Sometimes, he wishes Tony never had to go back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	6. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s it like up there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural crossover. For my Tony and my Clint. <3

“What’s it like up there?”

Tony snorts, his wings twitching when Loki runs his fingertips along them like a fascinated child. A cloud of smoke escapes his mouth in a graceful arch as he replies, “Perfectly awful.”

“Of course,” Loki hums, laughter fringing the edges of the comment, and he smoothes a nearly-transparent feather between his fingers, watches the way it makes Tony’s eyes glaze over with pleasure.

“I mean, _you_ might see it differently if you ever died, but that’s just because you’re human,” the angel elaborates, sticking his cigarette between his lips once more. He’s eyeing the curve of Loki’s angular, knife-sharp collarbones, the arc of his pale neck, and Loki knows that Tony’s thinking about biting his signature into his skin for the third time that night. Silly angel.

“ _Heaven_ ,” Loki sighs, tugging on a feather hard enough to make Tony flinch in pain-pleasure. He rolls completely onto his back, hikes his knees up and spreads his legs in a way that catches Tony’s attention almost comically fast. He smirks. “Take me there again, won’t you?”

Tony’s face splits into one of his familiar, unashamed grins. He stubs the remainder of his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand and easily finds his way between Loki’s legs, running his hands up the hunter’s sides almost possessively as he replies, “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	7. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s never felt like he belonged anywhere – at least, not since he found himself here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Swan Lake!verse.

He’s gorgeous, his emerald eyes blinking just above the surface of the water as he peers at him, curious and terrified. Tony lowers his arrow as he watches the beauty before him slowly rise out of the lake until he’s only submerged from the knees down. The boy is stark nude, his skin as white as snow and his hair blacker than midnight, and Tony honestly can’t make himself breathe in the face of something so goddamn _beautiful_. He gasps.

“Who are you?”

Instead of answering, the boy’s eyes go dark with alarm as he says, simple and final, “You should not be here.”

Funny, because Tony’s never felt like he belonged _anywhere_ – at least, not since he found himself here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	8. Fugitive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes in Ororo’s battered state, the brokenness of her voice and the tension in the curve of her body, and suddenly he knows that he has to take care of her. No question about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this 'verse will take place in 1920's New Orleans. This whole thing has been floating around in my head for awhile now, so I'm kind of excited to start getting it out.

He doesn’t know what to think when he peels back the tarp to reveal a girl, dark-skinned and nearly nude, lying beneath it. He blinks.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and he watches the way shock and alarm flitters across his addressee’s face at his question. He knows what she’s thinking, knows that she’s assuming he’s going to beat or kill her, that he’ll turn her in to the police or send her back to wherever she came from, which probably wasn’t all that great judging by the bruises marring her otherwise smooth skin.

“I’m not gon’ hurt you, cherie,” he adds as an afterthought, leaning towards the girl in what he hopes is an inviting manner. The artificial darkness ringing his eyes doesn’t much help him to appear harmless (he _is_ a witch doctor, after all), but part of Loki desperately hopes that this mysterious woman will see past all that.

The girl watches him a few moments longer, mute and anxious, before bowing her head and muttering, “Ororo.”

Loki takes in this _Ororo_ ’s battered state, the brokenness of her voice and the tension in the curve of her body, and suddenly he _knows_ that he has to take care of her. No question about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	9. Basics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And used your freaky voodoo powers?” he retorts, snorting incredulously and moving forward to rest a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder, “Hell no. Better stick to the basics.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Supernatural!verse.

A blow to the face and a kick to the shin. A half-step back as Thor aims his gun this way, only to let out a strangled, angry cry when he’s knocked forward and onto his face, his weapon clattering a few feet away from him at the impact. It’s no effort at all for Loki to lunge and grab the rifle as well as cover his brother, and in seconds, he’s got two demons with faces full of rock salt and another engaged in a rather bodily struggle.

“How’s your mother, _Loki_?” the demon asks, spiteful and mocking, swinging an open palm towards Loki’s ear. The hunter easily stops the attack by grabbing the demon’s wrist and twisting it backwards, eliciting a sharp hiss from the bitch as he knees it in the gut and shoves it to its knees.

“Wonderful,” is his bitter reply. Loki’s fixing to do his thing and exorcise the demon at his feet when he hears Thor shout his name – a warning to move away or get his knees shot out.

Loki quickly obliges, darting to the side just before Thor blows the demon’s head off with three flawlessly lethal shots. He’s made an unnecessary mess, but he’s effectively ended this leg of the hunt.

Thor lets out a triumphant sort of laugh, swinging his rifle around to rest on his shoulder as he levels a smirk at Loki’s glaring face.

“I could have exorcised her, you know,” the younger of them points out, nodding at the grotesque remainder of what was once a person lying on the ground. Thor scowls.

“And used your freaky voodoo powers?” he retorts, snorting incredulously and moving forward to rest a heavy hand on Loki’s shoulder, “ _Hell_ no. Better stick to the basics.”

Loki can’t help but disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	10. Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She likes to ask him that question, and every time she does, Loki will give her a different response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the 1920's NOLA!verse.

“Why you doin’ this for me?”

She likes to ask him that question, and every time she does, Loki will give her a different response.

“Because you deserve it.”

“I’ve been there before, cherie.”

“I may be a sinner, but I’d never turn away from someone who truly needs help.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

Ororo will nod and accept his answers without a word, but it isn’t until Loki sweeps her into his arms and waltzes her around the patio to Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington that she understands exactly what he means.

“Why you doin’ this for me?” she asks, quiet and almost _scared_ beneath the pleased mask she wears.

Loki smiles something genuine; a rare gem few ever get to see, leans his head against hers and croons into her ear, “Because you’re beautiful, cher. Isn’t that obvious?”

That seems to be enough for Ororo, because she goes silent and lets Loki dance with her, guiding her as a puppeteer would a marionette, until the moon is high in the sky and the crickets are singing loud and clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	11. Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Steve thinks he would trade anything – his glory, his Keyblade, and the fantastic journeys he’s embarked on – just to have Bucky and Peggy back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Kingdom Hearts!verse. I'd like to point out that in this verse, Steve and Peggy are 17, and Bucky, Thor, and Tony are 18. Other ages will be specified if need be.

Sometimes, when the Gummi Ship has fallen silent for the night or when he allows himself to enjoy the breeze of a particularly pleasant world for a few moments, Steve will drift back to before this whole ordeal started, when he was an ordinary teenager with dreams of being a space pirate. He’ll think about the beauty of the islands at dawn and at dusk and the saltiness of the ocean air and how warm the water got during the summer. Most of all, he’ll think of Bucky and Peggy and how his world used to revolve around theirs and how no day was spent without them.

He remembers a time when Bucky was his rival only because they had the power to flip the off-switch on that mindset, when they’d fight with wooden swords instead of Keyblades, when Bucky was there to _help_ him – not hinder him. Steve misses that Bucky so dearly it threatens to tear him apart like a rope pulled to the point of fraying, and sometimes, he can’t even remember what his best friend looked like before darkness overtook him.

He remembers how he and Bucky would constantly fight over Peggy’s attention like two dogs brawling over a bone, and he remembers the day Peggy showed up on the islands like a star out of the sky. He remembers the smooth, mahogany tone of her voice like it was his favorite song, remembers how her eyes were deep enough to drown in and how sweet her lips felt and tasted against his own. He remembers the nights she’d spend sleeping, and only that, against him, remembers how perfectly her hair would fall over his shoulder and how he’d listen to her heartbeat like it was meant to lull him to sleep.

Sometimes, Steve thinks he would trade _anything_ – his glory, his Keyblade, and the fantastic journeys he’s embarked on – just to have Bucky and Peggy back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	12. Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve’s gonna be here soon to pick us up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the HS!AU verse.

“Get up.”

“Mmph,” Tony groans in reply, burrowing further beneath Loki’s blankets until the only thing Loki can see is the wild mess of hair atop his head. He frowns.

“Tony, come on,” Loki sighs, dropping his cellphone on his nightstand and climbing back into bed. He sits himself on top of Tony, stretches the length of his body along his boyfriend’s and pokes his face a few times to get his attention. “Steve’s gonna be here soon to pick us up.”

“Wha–?” Tony asks, cracking an eye open. Loki presses a soft, damp kiss against the boy’s cheek as he questions, “What are we doing with _Steve_?”

“Breakfast,” Loki answers simply. He lets Tony orient himself, lets the teen wriggle out of the cocoon of blankets he’s swaddled in enough to take his face in his hands and kiss him, slow and sleepy.

“Good morning,” Tony eventually purrs against Loki’s lips, nuzzling his nose just slightly.

Loki makes a slightly pleased noise and kisses Tony’s black eye, says, “Up,” and slides out of his boyfriend’s grasp, slipping his shirt off as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	13. Confundo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony all but shoves Freyr and Natasha to the side in his haste to get to Loki, who sits on the floor of the locker room, his broken leg clasped in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Harry Potter!verse.

Tony all but shoves Freyr and Natasha to the side in his haste to get to Loki, who sits on the floor of the locker room, his broken leg clasped in his hands.

“Shit,” Tony blurts, falling to his knees in front of his boyfriend. He lets his hands hover restlessly over Loki’s legs before deciding to gently take his broken one and rest it in his lap, and then Loki’s hissing and his head is falling back against the wall, and it’s all Tony can do to not grab him and kiss him and never let him go.

“ _Aagh_ ,” Loki gasps, tensing in Tony’s grip. The sounds coming out of his mouth are almost erotic in nature, enough to bring a nearly invisible blush to Tony’s face.

“I’m gonna bludgeon the living shit out of Logan,” Freyr snarls, rough and vengeful, and Tony can’t help but scowl when Amora and Wade hum their agreement.

“And get us disqualified? Hell no,” Tony retorts, watching the way Loki’s face contorts in pain and goes pale when he presses his thumb against the point of fracture. “I’ll have your head for that.”

“Professor Lehnsherr would, too,” Natasha notes.

Wade opens his mouth to say something in protest, but everyone in the locker room goes silent and still when Loki lets out a breathy, “ _Tony…_ ”

Tony leans closer to his boyfriend, eyes wide with alarm as he asks, soft and worried, “Yeah?”

Loki weakly raises his head to look Tony in the face, swallow thickly, and whisper, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

In no time, Tony’s got Loki cradled in his arms and out of the locker room. Past the Quidditch pitch he goes on fast-flying feet, and it isn’t until they’re halfway back to the castle that Loki tells him to put him down.

“Are you alright?” Tony questions a bit dumbly as he gingerly sets Loki on the ground, and he can only watch, a little perplexed, as Loki turns halfway onto his side, bows his head, and… does nothing.

“I thought I was going to vomit,” Loki clarifies after about a minute of inactivity. He turns back into Tony’s embrace, clutching at the teens dirtied uniform and resting his head against his shoulder.

Tony frowns, bringing a hand up to tilt Loki’s face his way and kissing him almost desperately on the lips. A soft moan escapes Loki’s throat as his mouth falls open, almost like an invitation, and then Tony is sucking at his bottom lip and licking the most beautiful sounds right out of his boyfriend, and he abruptly remembers that he and Loki haven’t had sex or even shared a bed in _weeks_.

“Oh, _God_ ,” Loki sighs in both pain and pleasure when Tony moves the hand supporting his leg into his hair. He shifts in the circle of Tony’s arms so that he’s sitting up, his limbs slung across his boyfriend’s shoulders, his tongue pressing into his mouth, and his fingers scratching through his hair.

They’re tired and dirty and sweaty and sore, and Tony thinks ( _knows_ ) that if they don’t stop now, he’s going to be fucking Loki right then and there, where everyone can see them.

“I need to get you to the infirmary,” he mumbles into Loki’s mouth, groaning deeply when Loki bites his way down his chin.

“You need to get me to your bunk,” Loki counters, sucking a kiss against Tony’s jaw before letting out a soft noise of displeasure. Tony scowls.

“Not until you’re better,” he concedes, going against his desire to do exactly what Loki wants him to. He grips Loki under his legs and lifts him from the ground once more, and all the clothing separating them is suddenly unbearably uncomfortable, and _goddamn_ , Tony just really fucking hates Logan Howlett for whacking a bludger into his boyfriend’s femur.

At least they won the match.

“I _want_ you,” Loki breathes into Tony’s ear, using that tone he knows catches the teen’s attention and gets him all hot and bothered in an instant, the one only Tony’s ever heard before.

“Shut _up_ ,” Tony half-whines, catching Loki’s lips in an insistent kiss before he starts moving again.

“I _love_ you,” Loki rambles on, nearly delirious, clinging to Tony by his shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Likewise,” Tony sighs, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he nears the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	14. Constellations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You need to be more careful,” he says, his voice low and just a bit ominous in a way that spectacularly manages to be tender. He cranes his neck to brush his lips against Loki’s mouth, whispers, “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the Supernatural!verse. For Grant and Zack.

The wall of the warehouse explodes against his back, solid and painful and sudden like a stick of dynamite or a car crash. The air in his lungs leaves him in a sharp gust as his heart hammers fire-hot nails into the inside of his chest, and he feels sick for a moment, like he might die if he moves too much.

And then there’s Tony, like a dancer in the way he practically glides over the ground, every step placed with deadly intent. Loki watches somewhat helplessly as the angel annihilates every hellhound that comes within five feet of him, enthralled with how the dogs’ varying skeletons will flash through their invisible bodies like neon lights flickering above the entrance to a bar before they’re gone with a yelp, and _fuck_ , Tony is just having a _ball_ , a grin plastered across his face and a fire in his eyes. It’s all over so quickly, but Loki feels like he’s been watching Tony smite and destroy for hours.

Tony turns to him, not even panting, slowly moving to where Loki’s still pressed against the wall, right where he put him. Eventually they’re face-to-face, and Loki can’t do a thing but stare into Tony’s dark, _dark_ eyes and remember something he read forever ago in a book of poetry – ‘ _every angel is terrifying_.’

“You’re welcome,” Tony says, joking and light, but when Loki opens his mouth and says nothing, just continuing to watch him like he’s some kind of enraged beast, his expression sobers into something stormy and he leans in closer.

“You need to be more careful,” he says, his voice low and just a bit ominous in a way that spectacularly manages to be tender. He cranes his neck to brush his lips against Loki’s mouth, whispers, “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

And suddenly, Loki is afraid that Tony’s going to just disappear and leave him all flustered and wanting like he loves to do after he says something cryptic and serious, moreso than Tony himself, but his fears are quickly dispelled when the angel nudges their noses together and presses an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. _God_.

“Where’s Thor?” Tony asks once they’ve pulled apart so that Loki can breathe, and at first, Loki isn’t sure if the angel is asking such a question because he’s alone on such a risky hunt or because he’s planning to take him somewhere – somewhere his brother _isn’t_.

“A few towns over,” he croaks, watching the way Tony’s eyes change as he registers the information, “He’s helping Steve’s gang.”

“Fair enough,” Tony huffs, and before Loki can do anything more than blink, the angel grabs his arm tight and they’re back in his motel room, miles away from the warehouse, with a rapid fluttering of wings. It briefly occurs to Loki that Tony must have scraped the inside of his memory to know where to take him, but why the angel didn’t use this power to find Thor, he doesn’t know.

It scarcely matters, though, because Tony’s pulling Loki into his arms like riptides drown children and kissing him again, _harder_ this time, and Loki has his fingers buried deep in the angel’s hair and Tony’s got his hand at the base of his back and his knees against the edge of a mattress and _goddamn_ , sometimes he wants Tony so bad it’s disgusting.

“Don’t you ever do something so dangerous again,” Tony orders him, and he’s using this tone that’s both threatening and heartfelt as he gets the buttons of Loki’s shirt undone and the shirt itself off of his pale shoulders.

Loki lets out a gusty sigh when Tony rubs his palm over the handprint burnt onto his left shoulder, the sound turning into a groan when the angel drops his head low to kiss the scar, still tender even after months of having it. He murmurs, “Why?”, and when Tony nips at his skin, he hisses, “You have my soul. You could just put it back in my body.”

“Your tortured, _mutilated_ body?” Tony retorts, raising his head and tugging at the waistband of Loki’s jeans so he can pry his fly open, “ _Hell_ no.”

Loki scowls against the press of Tony’s lips and his biting teeth, tearing his mouth open so that he can slip his tongue inside. In retaliation, the hunter nips at the tip of his angel’s tongue, only to have Tony growl and kick his feet out from under him so that he falls back on the bed, the breath knocked out of him yet _another_ time. _Shit_.

“You could heal it,” Loki points out, his voice a deep snarl. He watches tempestuously as Tony shrugs his leather trenchcoat off and tosses it to the floor before falling to his knees and pulling Loki towards him by his ankles.

“Loki, _hush_ ,” Tony sighs, unknotting said man’s sneakers and tugging them off of his feet along with his socks.

“ _No_ ,” Loki retorts, always quick to act like the spitfire he grew up to be, his eyes locked onto Tony’s face as the angel pushes him up the bed, rising over him like a tidal wave, “It’s pointless to worry about me when my life is already safeguarded.”

“But why go through the trouble of getting yourself killed?” Tony snaps, and Loki almost forgets how defiant he’s supposed to be when the angel tugs both his pants and underwear off in one quick, long drag, exposing him completely. This is the way Tony likes him best – naked and feisty and completely at his mercy.

“Maybe I like to know how much you care,” Loki pants, the heat in his statement all but evaporating when Tony peels his shirt off, his head emerging haloed with a mess of dark, curly hair.

Tony grins, impish and wild and everything that thrills and terrifies Loki all at once. He laughs, “ _I’ll_ show you how much I care. Don’t you worry about that.”

Loki can’t help but smirk at Tony’s words, sitting up and reaching over the side of the bed to dig through his duffel bag. As soon as Tony’s got his pants off, he’s _on_ him, biting and licking and sucking constellations all the way down his body, and Loki’s muttering prayers beneath his breath even though he knows he’s going to heaven, and there are stars and fire swimming in both of their eyes, especially because all they see is each other. That and nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	15. Hummingbird Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to him that he’s probably in love with Thor, and even though that’s just another problem to add to his mile-long list, it’s okay when he’s sick and in need of something like death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm going to say this is related to Brothers and is part of that verse... in a way. I also say that this is spoilery in terms of Brothers, that this will not be addressed for a long, LONG time over there, and that this is the Steve you don't see at this point in time. This is canon. This is not crack or alternative. This will make more sense if you check out Steve's blog, which... I will link you to in my end notes.

It starts off with sickness, which makes sense when you consider that Steve never really has any time to think about his life or feelings in an introspective, solemn sort of way otherwise. It’s always the next football game or the huge pile of schoolwork on his desk or Clint’s latest escapade with self-loathing or his parents endless phonecalls or Liberty’s bad hips or the new medication Peggy’s going to try out, but never his own  _anything_ , that takes up his attention. When he’s sick, though, he really has nothing to do  _but_  bite his fingernails and think about himself.

While taking a trip on his very own train of thought, Steve realizes there’s a certain stop he likes to drop off on for whatever reason. The realization doesn’t bother him at first - after all, it’s perfectly fine to think of your best friend a lot, isn’t it? That’s normal, right?

But then it occurs to him that he thinks of Thor when he’s alone. It occurs to him that he gets a little embarrassed and bashful when he does. It occurs to him that after he’s done remembering that time in high school when Thor shouldered him to the nurse like his very life depended on it, even though he got dizzy and faint  _all the time_ , or how when he looks at the sky he thinks about Thor’s eyes the way he thinks about Peggy’s when he sees chocolate, or how the three of them - him, Thor, and Clint - fall asleep when they’re together, him in the middle, Clint so far to the left of him it’s hilarious, and Thor  _right there_  against his side, and how they wake up all tangled together and he feels small and safe and not like he has to protect,  _protect_ ,  ** _protect_**  all the time - it occurs to him that he feels perfect. That he feels warm and like he can actually go to sleep without worrying about having to  _fall_ asleep, or get better, or call Peggy, or talk to Clint, or feed Liberty, or be  _Steve Rogers_  and not just  _Steve_. That Thor’s the only one that makes him feel even an inkling of paradise in his battered, anxiety-ridden, hummingbird soul.

It occurs to him that he’s probably in love with Thor, and even though that’s just another problem to add to his mile-long list, it’s okay when he’s sick and in need of something like death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Steve's blog (which is run by me and is a roleplay blog) is here: http://libertybarks.tumblr.com. If you're interested in more of the Brothers RP blogs, or in joining, go here: http://brothers-verse.tumblr.com. Have a good day. :]
> 
> \- Gabi.


	16. Helplessness Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were fourteen when the wall went up. It had been thirteen days since they’d last seen each other. The last words they’d shared were, “Ich werde dich vermissen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in post-WWII Germany. This also sucks a massive amount of dick, thank you very much. Uhm, Google Translate is your friend, and this is named after the song from Fleet Foxes. I recommend you go listen to it.

The war was over two years before they were born, and they’d both grown up learning that because of it, their country had changed the world in ways that wouldn’t be forgotten for centuries.  _Vater_  thought they’d done the right thing, that the Allies could never understand or recognize strength for what it was, that Germany had deserved victory – for they’d already lost too much, that sacrifices were necessary in times of trouble, that ‘ _they could have had it all_ ’, and he’d bow his head and shake it, and he’d look out the window and go very quiet and not talk until dinner.  _Mutter_ didn’t like to talk about the war at all, and when she did, she’d tell them that just because they were Germans, that didn’t mean that they were murderers or Nazis or fascists or racists like the rest of the world thought them to be. She’d tell them that it was okay to think that their leaders were wrong sometimes. She’d tell them that it was okay to think that  _Vater_  was wrong sometimes, too.

They were two when the city was divided, five when  _Vater_  and  _Mutter_  separated. They learnt words like  _helfen_ ,  _tod_ ,  _waffe_ , and  _vorsicht_  before the words children at their age used to, words like  _apfel_ ,  _liebe_ ,  _mond_ ,  _bruder_. They learned that sometimes it was better for you if you didn’t see the people you loved for awhile, that absence would only intensify the love you had, that loss was something to be accepted immediately and without question, that  _sacrifices were necessary in times of trouble_. They began living apart when they were eleven, mostly because Loki couldn’t stand staying with  _Vater_  for a month at a time, even if he did prefer the west over the east. Thor would brag about the west for hours on end when he stayed with  _Mutter_ , and Loki would miss the supermarkets and the money and the glamor that existed on the other side with  _Vater_ , even if he didn’t miss the man himself.

They were fourteen when the wall went up. It had been thirteen days since they’d last seen each other. The last words they’d shared were, “ _Ich werde dich vermissen._ ”

_I’ll miss you._

They didn’t know how right they were, not truly, until barbed wire and concrete stood between them, until the realization hit that  _no_  – they’d never see each other again.

They’d write each other short, brief letters with careful hands, knowing that they were sure to be read by the Stasi. They’d avoid telephones, for they knew they could never use them with any sort of purpose. And the first time they saw each other from opposite sides of the wall, they both cried like the little boys  _Vater_  said their tears made them, like children much younger than fourteen, like  _infants_. _Mutter_  held Loki to her side and wept against his temple, nearly silent, and Loki was almost entirely certain that she was hurting worse than he was, for she’d lost a part of  _herself_ , her  _beloved creation_ , her  _morning star –_  and she’d lost him to the people she’d supported so wholeheartedly.

Still – Loki had lost his  _brother_ ; his sun and stars; his  _best friend_  that year, and he’d felt as if he’d been snapped in half just like Berlin, just like Germany, just like the whole  _world_  seemed to be.

They’d go to the wall every Thursday at fourteen hundred hours, where they’d wave each other hello, watch each other for five or ten minutes, and then wave each other goodbye. Sometimes  _Mutter_ and  _Vater_  would come with them. Sometimes they’d try to mouth out whole conversations. Sometimes they’d make silly faces and laugh at one another. Sometimes they’d just cry. Most of the time, they’d simply hold one another’s gaze across the forty-three kilometers that held them apart and wish that that man they never knew had never started the war, that the word  _krieg_  had never been invented, that the apes had never climbed out of the trees and started talking and acting like the men they were today, that the stars had never exploded and whirled in a great storm to form the earth in the first place.

Sometimes, Loki would think about flying beyond the wall like a magnificent bird, wild and free, or jumping over it and sprinting across the death strip like many had attempted to do before. The thought of his possible murder never really occurred to him or affected him until he remembered how upset  _Mutter_  would be, how she’d surely wither away at the loss of her second son, her  _süße Blume._

The first Thursday Thor didn’t show up was in the December of the year they turned seventeen. Loki didn’t know how to respond to his brother’s absence, so he just cried right then and there, just cried and stared across the wall like every other time he’d done it before, only now, Thor wasn’t watching him do it.

He wrote him a letter and sent it in the worst mood he’d ever been in in his life, worse than the day  _Mutter_ and  _Vater_  separated and worse than the day the wall went up.

_Lieber_ _Thor,_ _  
  
Ich habe dich vermisst.  
  
- Loki._

They were twenty-one when Loki met him, the man who reminded him of Thor in such a dark, twisted way it was almost a crime that he fell in love with him. They carried on in secret even though the laws forbidding them to love had been just been repealed, and Loki spent many mornings waking up much too early to rush Tony out of his small apartment or let himself out of the man’s flat, wondering what Thor might have thought of him from where he was now.

They were twenty-two the morning Loki walked from Tony’s place to the wall, wrapped in the man’s coat and scarf and too guilty to speak in much more than fragmented whispers. It was a Wednesday and it was half-past five, so he didn’t expect to see anyone or anything significant. And he didn’t.

He had a letter in his mailbox when he got home, though.

_Lieber_ _Loki,_ _  
  
Ich bin nach Amerika bald! Ich habe einen Freund, und er ist aus Boston. Er wird mich nach Amerika zu nehmen. Ich bin sehr aufgeregt!  
  
Seien Sie an der Wand am Donnerstag. Ich werde dich zu ihm zu zeigen, bevor wir gehen!  
  
\- Thor._

Loki knew they thought the right thing when they were fourteen.  _They’d never see each other again_.

He brought Tony with him on that last Thursday, and he waited for Thor and his blond, American friend to wave at him before letting Tony know that that was the brother he’d always told him about. He never forgot the way Tony blew a slow, dragonlike stream of smoke from his mouth and said, “ _Entsager_ ,” before pulling him close and leading him away from the wall, effectively ending his trips to the borderline in a cloud of tobacco and a kiss on the cheek.

They were thirty when  _Mutter_  died of cancer. Loki regretted never being able to bring her morning star back, regretted his humanity and his limits and his darkness, regretted not being able to  _be Thor_  for her, for she needed him so badly. She’d wish for him for every birthday she had after 1961, go to sleep with his spirit in her heart, sometimes call Loki by his name on accident.

Loki never heard from or about  _Vater_  again. He’d sent him word of  _Mutter_ ’s death, but he never got anything back.

They were thirty-six when Loki threw away the multitude of postcards Thor had sent him from cities with names like  _New York_ ,  _Chicago_ ,  _San Francisco_ , and  _New Orleans_. He was tired of looking at them and wishing he were inside the pictures that fronted them, tired of being reminded of the fact that he’d been stuck in East Berlin his whole life while Thor gallivanted across the United States of America, a country full of the people who were partially responsible for their separation, the people who neglected to save Loki and  _Mutter_  and Tony from the Soviet Union and the sadness that followed them.

They were forty when America told Mr. Gorbachev to tear down the wall. Loki remembered that ugly thought they’d had since they were fourteen, and he told himself that they’d been wrong that day in 1961, that they would see each other again,  _yes_  – they  ** _would_**  see each other again, even if it was halfway across the earth and decades from now. He felt hope for the very first time on June 12th, 1987, and he  _rejoiced_ , knowing that even though the world was a very big place and that miracles rarely actually happened and that he seemed to gravitate towards misfortune,  _he was going to see his brother again_.

They were forty-one when Loki received the first serious letter he’d ever gotten since Thor left for America.

_Lieber_ _Loki,_ _  
  
Ich komme heim.  
  
\- Thor._

They were forty-two when the wall was broken. Thor met Loki in the middle of a swollen, awe-filled crowd, and they held each other for the first time in twenty-eight years, and they wept like the little boys  _Vater_  said their tears made them, and they  _said_  it to each other – they said it over and over again.

“ _Ich habe dich vermisst_ _._ ”

_I’ve missed you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	17. Old Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows his cheeks are red. He knows his eyes are damp. He knows he’s being difficult, the way Tony likes him the very least. What he doesn’t know is why Tony’s so dead-set on dealing with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Supernatural!verse I've got going. This is also slightly unedited. Please don't expect much, and go listen to 'Samson' by Regina Spektor right the fuck now. I assure you that it'll enhance your reading experience.

He comes to him smelling of stardust and ash, his eyes ringed with darkness and his skin paler than what could be considered healthy by human standards. He reminds Loki of some kind of divine raccoon, an alien fighting creature like he’s never seen before. He’s tired and terrifying, battered and beautiful, but most of all, he’s  _back_. That’s all that really matters until the sun breaches the horizon.

It’s eleven-thirty when Loki wakes to find Tony stripping down to his underwear – his overcoat forgotten in a heap on the floor – and crawling into bed beside him. As he wraps his neverending arms around his shaking, exhausted angel, he notices the bruises peppering Tony’s back – like someone tried to  _beat_  his wings right off of him – and the length of Tony’s hair, just barely brushing his shoulders. Loki cards his fingers through the angel’s dark locks and remembers the night he cut them for the first time, so very long ago. They were happier, then; freer, wanton, easier to laugh and less liable to fight.

Well, they’ve  _always_  been soldiers in a war against each other, but nowadays, if they aren’t separated or deep in the throes of passion, they’re exchanging curses venomous enough to kill baby elephants. But anyways. That night.

They are entwined in one another and coming down from a particularly fantastic high when Loki tugs on Tony’s hair hard enough to hurt (a human) and says, “It’s long.”

Ever an imp, Tony replies, “I’m sure you felt that when I was fucking you into the mattress.” A stream of smoke slowly escapes his mouth and forms a cloud over their heads, something thunderous and promising storms. Loki sucks the vapor into his mouth, childish and thoughtless.

“Your hair, you twat,” Loki counters without heat. He winds a dark-chocolate curl around his index finger. “I could cut it if you wanted me to.”

It might be the fundamentally  _human_  nature of hair-cutting that does it. Maybe, it’s the fact that  _Loki_  of all people offered to do something so simple, so  _generous_. Perhaps he’s just in one of  _those_  moods he often falls into, one that has him even quicker to smile and filled with a sweetness and light akin to his Hallmark cousins. Whatever  _it_  is, Tony’s eyes just light up at Loki’s suggestion, and his mouth splits into this beautiful, breathtaking grin as he asks, “You’d do that?”

A smirk tugs at Loki’s lips. He nods, plucks Tony’s cigarette out of his hand and briefly puffs at it before he sighs, “Yeah. Of course.”

Tony lets out this noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a cry of joy, and then he’s turning Loki onto his back and pressing him into the mattress, kissing all over his face and his neck and his chest and  _oh Lord_  – that angel can make  _miracles_ happen on Loki’s skin when he’s in a good mood.

“You’re welcome, Tony,” Loki chuckles as the angel drops a sucking kiss to the left of his sternum, where he was taught human hearts were found. He takes a long drag of Tony’s cigarette, enjoys the bite of tobacco at the back of his throat. He only smokes when Tony’s around, and the habit is almost like a sacred, ritual thing between them.

Tony rolls out of bed like a child on Christmas morning, yanking on Loki’s arm with only a fraction of the supernatural strength he possesses. “Come on!” he exclaims, and  _god_ , he’s just so damn  _excited_ it’s almost heartbreaking. Loki lives for smiles like these, for the bells that’ll ring in Tony’s voice when happiness strikes him like a lightning bolt, but of course, he’d never say that aloud, never even risk  _thinking_  it around the angel.

“Put some pants on,” he commands, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. Loki stubs Tony’s finished cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand, wrestles his long-forgotten pajama pants from the tangle of clothes on the floor, and slips the cotton slacks on as he watches Tony hastily do the same with his silly boxers, the ones decorated with angel-wings. He’s barely off the edge of the mattress before Tony’s grabbing him up and carrying him into the bathroom faster than his human legs could ever take him there, where the light is dim and yellow and the tile is forever stained.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Tony asks as Loki forces him to sit on the counter by the sink. There’s suddenly an inkling of fear in his voice, and it almost makes Loki laugh in spite of the angel.

Tony?  _Afraid_? Then, there was no such thing.

“Yep,” Loki replies, taking a moment to dig around for the pair of scissors he’d left in here this morning. Once he finds them, he starts running his fingers through Tony’s hair, combing out any tangles he comes across. “Thor and I have been cutting each other’s hair for as long as I can remember.”

Tony seems to relax at that. A slow, easy smile plasters itself across the angel’s face, and he hooks his thumbs in the hunter’s waistband and pulls him closer to kiss the corner of his mouth. It’s one of those kisses that says  _You’re mine_  and  _I’m incredibly happy with you_  and  _There’s not one thing I’d rather be doing than this_ all at once.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Tony breathes into Loki’s ear, and now he’s got the hunter pulled up against him, shock-still with angelic electricity in his veins. The comment wakes Loki up a bit, though, and a small frown finds its way onto his face.

“Is that what you tell everybody you hop into bed with?” he asks, just a bit hostile. He’s using the impassive voice that comes out of him whenever he’s rooting for information on a hunt, and it occurs to him that sometimes he’ll sit around and think about seeking out Tony’s additional conquests and burning their bones in six-foot deep graves. Such violent thoughts he has.

“ _No_ ,” is Tony’s indignant answer. The angel pulls away from Loki to look him in the face, fix him with his stupid melted-chocolate eyes and look at him like he’s said something wrong, like he’s  _offended_  him.

 _Please_.

“Don’t lie to me, Tony,” Loki says, his tone firmer this time. He shoves his hands into Tony’s hair once more, watches how the angel’s expression goes from hurt to slightly vexed. He can’t really find it in him to be scared (or guilty, for that matter).

“I’m  _not_ ,” Tony argues, reaching up to grab Loki’s wrists and twine their calloused fingers together. Loki shudders at the sheer tenderness of the gesture, because this  _isn’t_  the way they’re supposed to be. No.

He and Tony come together like  _fighters_ , their words and tongues clash like _swords_ , every mattress they find themselves on will become a battlefield (they’re fighting this war all across America, can you believe that?), because they are  _not_ lovers. They’re not, no matter how much time Loki spends in the morning just watching Tony and dreading the minute he wakes up and has to leave again, no matter how softly Tony will whisper against his spine ‘ _I’ve got you, I’m here_ ’ when they’re making war between the sheets, no matter how sweet their kisses will get when it’s late and they’re tired and all they want is to sleep together.

They are  _not_  lovers.

But Tony seems to think they are, or  _want_  them to be, or want to  _trick_  Loki into thinking they are, because he says, “I haven’t said that to anybody since you.”

Loki smirks, an ugly little expression, snorts, “I’m sure.”

Tony pulls Loki close again, ignoring the hunter when he scoffs in protest or irritation or discomfort or all three and going on with, “I haven’t… I haven’t even done  _this_ …” He gestures between the two of them, and suddenly he’s the shy, bashful little angel that Loki only rarely gets to see. “… with  _anyone_  since you.”

Loki watches Tony for awhile, aloof and mostly expressionless. There’s an idiot inside of him, a child who’s never learned how to grow up, and it’s telling him that Tony’s being honest with him, that Tony  _hasn’t_  followed somebody else to bed after their first time, that Tony really does want him and  _only_  him.

But Loki isn’t stupid, and he remembers how very effortless it was for Tony to see him and want him. He remembers how practiced Tony is in the ways of ‘ _love_ ’. He remembers Tony’s charming smile and easy touch, and he remembers how he’s a naturally envious person and how dark the corners of his heart can get when they’re left unattended, and he remembers that Tony truly isn’t his  _at all_ , and he never was to begin with.

“Now you’re  _really_  yanking my chain,” Loki says, quiet and bitter. He smoothes a lock of Tony’s hair between his fingers, grabs his scissors from the countertop.

“You’re being difficult,” Tony notes like it’s some kind of goddamn revelation, something surprising and unexpected that  _gasp_  – Loki can be an asshole sometimes. “I don’t like it when you’re  _difficult_.”

“Tell me again later, when I’m giving a damn,” Loki snaps, chopping a few inches off of the bundle of hair in his grip. His words, coupled with his actions, effectively shut Tony’s mouth.

Loki spends ten minutes trimming Tony’s hair, and to be honest, it’s almost therapeutic to be taking something away from him, something that isn’t time or pleasure for the first time in forever. He doesn’t know it now, but he’s stealing more than just hair from Tony; he’s stealing the hardness of angelic war from him, thoughts of bloodshed and a wildness so sharp Loki will sometimes go weeks feeling it at the base of his spine, where Tony likes to bend him almost completely in half.

As the last lock of hair falls to the floor, Loki pulls Tony off of the counter top and spins him around to face the stain-speckled mirror. Gentler than his tempestuous mood really warrants, Loki rests his chin on Tony’s shoulder to peer at the angel’s reflection, runs his hands down his wiry arms and asks, almost whispering, “What do you think?”

It’s like watching the sun break through a cluster of nimbus clouds to see the smile that blooms across Tony’s face. The angel is immediately raking his fingers through his freshly cut hair and marveling at the feel of it, grinning like a fucking idiot as he cries, “My first haircut!”

And then Tony turns, gathers Loki into his arms and spins him around, and Loki can’t help but feel like a child again when the angel showers kisses all over his face. They’re laughing in harmony, any trace of animosity that previously existed between them having disappeared in the face of Tony’s happiness. Tony’s half-murmuring sweet things into his skin as he brings him back into the bedroom, and Loki’s more than okay with it all until the angel says something absolutely fucking  _terrifying_.

“I love you,” Tony croons against his neck, punctuating the statement with a kiss. It comes out of his mouth so easily, so  _perfectly_ , and out of everyone Loki’s ever shared a bed with, Tony’s the only one to tell him something like that, something so deep and scary and glamorous. And you know what?

Loki really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“What?” is his response, and it’s breathless and it’s tart, and he’s feeling lightheaded and he’s feeling  _off_ , and suddenly, he just wants to be nowhere  _near_ here. He’s not ready to look inside himself and see how Tony’s manifested in his heart, not  _yet_  (if it was up to him, not  _ever_ ).

“I  _love_  you!” Tony repeats, louder this time. He sets Loki on the ground in front of him, not letting him go, and he’s looking deep into his emerald eyes like he’s fishing for feeling, some kind of fire that might lie there that mirrors his own. Loki is avoiding Tony’s gaze, is looking down and pulling away from his angel, and he can feel himself closing up on the inside, like hedgehog with porcupine quills.

He can’t  _do_ this. He was never taught how.

“You don’t believe me?” Tony asks him. His voice has changed, gone even louder and firmer, and there’s that note of fear in it again, that touch of anxiety, and it has Loki realizing with a start that Tony’s more scared of anything he has to say than he is of the archangels he’s battling back home, that Tony’s just as terrified of him and his fire and his wit and his  _brokenness_  as he is of Tony’s wrath, of his power, of his knowledge and his grace. He’s not sure what to do with that either.

Loki neglects to answer Tony when he crawls back into bed. He doesn’t know what he’s planning to accomplish by ignoring the angel, as if he can accomplish  _anything_ , and he’s aware of the fact that he’s crawled himself into a hole he won’t be able to get out of easily, that he’s carved a wound into his heart that’ll only fester if he lets it be, because Tony has his  _soul_ , Tony’s  _not_  going to let go of him, Tony’s an _angel_  and he’s a  _human_ , Tony could probably  _force_  him to tell the truth if he wanted to, Tony could force him to do  _anything_  if he wanted to, and isn’t it scary that he  _hasn’t_?

A few long moments of silence and stillness pass before the mattress dips and Tony is suddenly existing in Loki’s world again, and Loki’s body goes rigid and tense when he feels Tony’s fingers against his spine, when Tony’s hand appears in his peripheral vision and the angel cages him between his arms, when Tony’s nose is at the base of his skull, nuzzling his hair out of the way so that he can kiss him in that spot that makes him melt under most circumstances.

“You don’t believe me?” the angel repeats, softly and gently. He trails his lips to the shell of Loki’s ear, and now, he’s a different animal – a sensual, velvety creature that speaks in murmurs and liquid love and molten sex, and you know what? Loki doesn’t know what to do with  _that_  either.

“I swear I’m telling the truth,” Tony purrs, pressing into Loki like a ship against a tidal wave. He moves his hands to grab Loki’s wrists, hold them like manacles in his grip, says, “I swear on my grace I am.”

“ _Tony, stop_ ,” Loki chokes around the knot of emotion in his throat, because he can  _deal_  with Tony’s anger and he can  _deal_  with Tony’s wildness, with every embarrassing time he’s been a liability to Thor on a hunt because he can’t walk normally after Tony’s had him until his skin is burning with bruises, with roughness and pain and tough, borderline abusive love, but he  _can’t_  handle the softness, can’t handle blunt, sweet honesty, can’t handle the fact that sometimes good things can happen without there being a curse attached (and really, there  _is_  a curse attached to this  _good thing_ , but it’s a curse so mild and so bittersweet and so  _necessary_  that Loki can scarcely even consider it to be one).

“ _No_ ,” Tony retorts, squeezing Loki’s wrists in a way that nearly challenges his morality streak. “I  _love_  you. I’d never stop.”

“But  _why_?” is what flies out of Loki’s mouth next, and then he’s wrestling out of Tony’s grip so he can turn onto his back and face the angel, look him in the face and ask, “ _Why_  would you say something like that?”

He knows his cheeks are red. He knows his eyes are damp. He knows he’s being  _difficult_ , the way Tony likes him the very least. What he  _doesn’t_  know is why Tony’s so dead-set on dealing with that, on confronting it head-on when he can just fly away and not have to put up with it, when he’s so beneath Tony it’s ridiculous, when he’s so small and Tony’s so large, when he’s Tony’s fifth or sixth or eleventh or one-hundredth; one dirty, hateful human in a sea of kings and queens and heroes and movie stars, and Tony could have  _all_ of them – but he’s got  _him_.

A smile illuminates Tony’s face at the question. He cranes his neck to press his forehead against Loki’s and says, like it’s supposed to be some obvious, predictable thing, “I’ve seen your soul. Of course I wouldn’t stop.”

Loki’s eyes drop to the golden, luminous little vial hanging at the end of the cord around Tony’s neck a split second before Tony catches his lips in a hard, surging kiss. He groans into it like it hurts him, and it  _does_  – it  _bruises_  both his mouth  _and_ his heart, and his arms are coming up to wrap around Tony’s neck and shoulders of their own accord, and his breath is caught in his windpipe, and he  _still_  doesn’t know what to do with any of this.

“It’s okay,” Tony breathes against his skin once he breaks the kiss, brushing his lips against Loki’s chin, his jaw, his neck. He seals his mouth over the junction between Loki’s neck and shoulder when the man lets out a quiet, pained little noise, says, “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Stop lying to me,” Loki hisses, the end of his statement turning into a low, involuntary moan when Tony pulls out of his embrace, sits up, and drags his pajama bottoms off, exposing him quickly and suddenly like he so often does when they’re in the middle of an argument.

“I’m  _not_  lying,” Tony huffs a bit impatiently. Loki watches, frozen and stiff, as the angel removes his own undergarments and climbs on top of him, takes his face into his hands and presses his lips into the hollow immediately under Loki’s cheekbone. He says, “I’m not asking you to do anything, Loki. Not this time.”

And then Loki  _lets go_ , lets himself cry like he hasn’t done for months (what a trooper he is), lets Tony kiss him and hold him and tell him things like, ‘ _You don’t have to do anything for me_ ,’ and ‘ _I love you_ ,’ and ‘ _You’re special, you’re different_ ,’ and ‘ _It’s okay_ ,’ and ‘ _You’re only human_.’ And he lets himself believe Tony.

This time, they make  _love_  instead of war. Loki tells Tony that he’s  _scared_  and  _hysterical_  and  _unstable_  and  ** _horrible_** , and Tony tells him that’s okay. Loki tells Tony that he loves him, too.

Tony tells him that’s okay.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone,” is what Tony tells Loki now, lying in the circle of the hunter’s arms with a body covered in bruises and scars. His hair is long and his eyes are sunken, and he’s so damn tired that it’s almost heartbreaking that Loki’s thinking about a time when he wasn’t, when he was a ray of sunshine that illuminated or burned everything around him, when he did a lot more with him than just screamed at him, fucked him, or slept beside him.

But Loki doesn’t say any of that. He just presses his face against Tony’s and tells him, “It’s okay,” even though it won’t be in the morning when he’s bitching at the angel to forget about heaven and pay attention to him, when Tony’s tearing at his lips with his teeth, when they’re clawing at each other until they’re bleeding, until they’re  _crying_ , when Tony’s gone and Loki knows it’s his fault, when Loki’s turned into an aggressive animal of a hunter, when Thor’s casting him sideward glances and Steve is avoiding his eyes for fear of getting his throat bitten out.

Tony turns his head to kiss Loki on the lips, slow and sloppy and sluggish and everything Tony normally  _isn’t_. Loki easily returns the kiss, tugs on Tony’s hair hard enough to hurt (a human), and says, “It’s long.”

Tony must remember that day, because he buries his face in Loki’s collarbone and murmurs, “I love you.”

It doesn’t take Loki long to reply, “I love you, too.” And he kisses Tony to sleep, then, kisses Tony until the sun breaches the horizon and his motel room grows light, kisses Tony until the angel’s woken up and has to go again, kisses Tony goodbye that whole damn night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	18. Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s when Loki spits in his face that Steve realizes he’s in love with him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm. This is related to Brothers. As with the Steve/Thor drabble, this subject isn't going to be touched upon for quite a long time.

It takes him much longer to come to _this_ realization, which makes sense when you consider the fact that he was raised on classic, heterosexual, not at all complex Disney romances and possesses a mind like a motor – constantly running, oftentimes out of his reach. When he’s hit with it, he’s hit _hard_ and oh so _suddenly_ , and he’s had this monster of feeling building up inside of him for such a long time that it’s almost absurd how he managed to not really notice it until now, when it’s quite literally _roaring_ in his face.

And it doesn’t make **_sense_** , why Steve would feel attachment to a person so spiteful to him, someone who loathes him so passionately and openly, and it doesn’t make **_sense_** , that Steve feels guilt so _differently_ or remorse so _sweetly_ or compassion so _deeply_ whenever his enemy bleeds, and it doesn’t make **_sense_** why he feels so _weak_ , so humbled to a beauty so _fierce_ , a rose with more thorns than petals, a hospital visit on legs (because every time he sees him, he’s struck with the strangest sensation around his heart and lungs, the kind of feeling that constricts and tightens and kills).

Then again, Steve is no stranger to finding beauty in the darkest of things, and he finds _so much of it_ in green eyes that glare death at him, in snow white skin that will flush with anger at him, in a honey-and-thunder voice that carries hate as easily as it does passion or wit, and _sometimes_ , Steve will imagine himself buried deeper than deep in these things, finding even more boundless and unchecked **_beauty_** far beneath that icy shell.

It’s when Loki spits in his face that Steve realizes he’s in love with _him_ , too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	19. Aquarius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only when Clint tells him to ‘calm the fuck down’ in a soft, sleepy murmur that his voice rarely ever wears that Steve knows he’s being silly, that even if he was never good at carrying water, he’s always been good at carrying Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the answer to a three-sentence prompt I got on Tumblr. I don't really have a verse for this one, and it can be accepted as both AU or canon depending on how you want to see it.

He always wakes up terrified, because he knows what Clint’s like, knows that no matter how good things get, Clint could still run away, knows that no matter how honest a man he is, Clint could  _still_ slip through his fingers like water — and he’s no water carrier. It’s only when he reaches out and finds Clint’s hand or his hip or his chest, or any calloused, warm, familiar,  _beautiful_ little bit of him that Steve knows he needs to stop having heart attacks every morning.

It’s only when Clint tells him to ‘ _calm the fuck down_ ’ in a soft, sleepy murmur that his voice rarely ever wears that Steve knows he’s being silly, that even  _if_  he was never good at carrying water, he’s always been good at carrying Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	20. Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki turns over onto his other side, reaches out a clumsy hand to give Steve’s forearm an affectionate squeeze, and murmurs, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another dose of that spoilery Brothers stuff. Uhm, this is going to happen eventually, but eventually is quite a long time from now, so don't expect Loki and Steve to be biffles anytime soon. Also, this is the answer to a three-sentence prompt I got on Tumblr.

“Goodnight, Loki,” he comes whispering, and he’s almost speaking too softly for Loki to hear him through the haze of the deep, dark exhaustion engulfing his mind, which has been overworked and stretched and twisted quite a bit over the last few hours.

Loki  _does_  hear him, though, and he peeks over his shoulder to look at Steve, who’s watching him like children watch small, delicate animals they’ve just coaxed out of their shells or holes, like he’s some kind of dewdrop angel fallen straight out of the sky, and  _really_ , it’s scary in the most beautiful sort of way that another human being could look at him like  _that_ when he’s as tired and haggard as he is.

Loki turns over onto his other side, reaches out a clumsy hand to give Steve’s forearm an affectionate squeeze, and murmurs, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	21. Tobacco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint knows why he doesn’t stop this, knows that he’d surely die if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the answer to a three-sentence prompt I got on Tumblr. I don't have a set verse for this, nor do I see myself continuing it, but I imagined this taking place in a conman, mystery-action sort of movie, you know? Yeah.

He doesn’t know why he keeps this thing going when he’s waking up every morning breathing and sweating like a sick dog, clutching at the gun beneath his pillow like it’s a lifeline and praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that he’s alone this time. He doesn’t know  _why_ he keeps this thing going when it has him bleeding and screaming and picking at scabs the man’s left in his skin from the cigarettes he’s grown bored of and lying to the few friends he has about why he can’t do this or that and why he can’t walk right today — oh, he just blacked his own stupid eye and walked into a metal pole and accidentally rope-burnt his own neck and wrists —  _it’s no big deal._

Except he  _does_  know, and he knows it every time he walks into his apartment and smells tobacco, and oh, look — boss is there, waiting for him with his venom green eyes and his always-seeking, greedy, biting mouth that leaves him red in the morning and his hand clenched tight around Clint’s whole damn  _life_  like a vice, like a goddamn  _vice_ , and Clint  _knows_ why he doesn’t stop this, knows that he’d surely  _die_ if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	22. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the time, he’s certain that he’s the weaker one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the answer to a three-sentence prompt I got on Tumblr. It's part of a post-war AU that I may or may not continue.

Most of the time, he’s certain that he’s the weaker one of them, what with his softness and his silence and the way he likes to get himself alone because humanity is a little too scary to deal with sometimes. Bucky’s never like that, never been one to sit still and let his mind eat him up, not  _him_  — not bright, overzealous,  _wonderful_  him.

But then the moon rises up to its perch in the sky, and Steve gets a whole lot smarter because of the darkness and the way it forces him to be honest with himself, the way it almost  _always_ changes his mind about what the definition of  ** _broken_** is, especially when Bucky’s curled up against his chest and clung to his body like a terrified child, talking about absolutely nothing with corpses dancing in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	23. Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tells him he never remembers the words he says, only the actions he executes and the emotions he feels while he executes them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the answer to a three-sentence prompt I got on Tumblr. The first thing I thought when I got the prompt was 'baseball', so uhm... that's basically where I went with this. This was a pretty cracky pairing to get, but I hope it works for you. Thor is the focal point of this drabble, by the way.

He tells him he never remembers the words he says, only the actions he executes and the emotions he feels while he executes them. He tells him he remembers the first time he swung a bat, the way his arm whipped around like a bobbin and he felt himself breathe electric air, and he tells him he remembers the first time he saw him walk into Coach Fury’s office and felt condescension on his tongue like a bitter aftertaste and walked out of there and laughed a coldhearted little laugh, and he tells him he remembers the first time he saw him pitch and got the oxygen knocked out of him, and he tells him he remembers the first time he saw him and saw him as a  _person_ and the way his eyes felt wider than they ever had, and he tells him he remembers the first time he ever touched him and how he felt as light and insubstantial as a feather then, not like the athlete, the lion, the mountain of a man he was, he  _is_.

And he tells Clint that the only word he ever remembers with any significance is ‘ _amazing_ ’, because that’s what he thinks every time he sees Clint pitch, and it’s like the oxygen is knocked out of him all over again, and he feels as light and insubstantial as a feather, and his eyes feel wider than they ever have, and he’s breathing electric air — how  _amazing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	24. Endorphin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they’ll be a proper love story by the end of this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the answer to a three-sentence prompt I got on Tumblr. I plan on continuing this verse, which takes place in a psychiatric ward, sometime in the future and from the perspectives of different characters. It just so happens that Steve/Clint was the pairing I got when this was started - don't let that make you think that they're the main characters of this verse. I like to think of this as having an ensemble cast. :]

“He thinks he’s hot shit because he’s a sociopath,” is what Tony tells him after Nurse Foster's come in and confirmed their presence in bed, and Steve automatically knows who the man’s talking about, knows by the way Tony’s face pinches under the stripe of moonlight illuminating his face when he says ‘ _sociopath_ ’ like it’s swearword or a dose of cough syrup on his tongue.

And really, he might just be crazy like his presence here says he is, and he might have grown up wrong or screwed up somewhere down the developmental line, and he might be stupid or naive or childish or a multitude of other similarly negative things, but Steve thinks that Clint’s  _not_  what everybody says he is, thinks he sees life where the world sees death in those piercing hazel eyes, thinks he likes the way he feels warm in a borderline uncomfortable way every time the man looks at him,  _touches_ him,  _says his **name**_ , thinks he wouldn’t mind letting the danger that lies under Clint’s skin like an endorphin psych him out, get him high, make him crazier and even more anxious than he already is, and maybe they’ll be a proper love story by the end of this chapter, locked in padded rooms and huddled close together in the closets of their minds, where Steve can let Clint do _anything_  to him, anything at all, and  _damn_  — wouldn’t that be  _nice_?

“I guess,” he replies, turning his face away from Tony and hoping the man doesn’t notice the redness riding atop his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	25. Nearly Twice as Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he sees Loki’s skin in blue shades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of an AU with a very intricate, confusing canon that I'll quote my darling Arlet to explain. It's something that's "eerily similar to reincarnation and fallen gods and lost past lives and TEARS". I haven't written in this verse (which I will call the Eclipse!verse from here on out) before, so feel free to be very confused and disinterested. The title is from the song "Postcards From Italy" by Beirut, which I strongly recommend.

Sometimes he sees Loki’s skin in blue shades.

He thinks it’s because of the lava lamp Loki likes to keep on all the time, because of the combination of purple gel and fluorescent light that paints the room in inky shadows. Loki has a lot of that in his-their-the room, normal things like lava lamps and bookshelves and postcards and artwork. He likes to arrange their backpacks next to their bed on their respective sides. He doesn’t sleep without his fish comforter. He watches  _The Golden Girls_  and hunches over his laptop at eleven o’clock at night. He lies around in school t-shirts and big sweaters. He tries to act as normal as he possibly can, and Tony’s not certain whether that’s endearing or cowardly of him. He thinks it’s a little bit of both most of the time.

Sometimes, after they’ve made love on accident like they tend to do, Tony lets his thousand-year memory guide his index finger along Loki’s skin in loops and whorls where jotunn marks used to be. He doesn’t know whether or not Loki's aware of what he’s doing, but they’re usually getting all starry-eyed and distracted at times like these, and Loki’s usually telling him about something he did a few lives ago, and Tony’s usually laughing at how trivial they are, and nothing feels real anymore.

Sometimes, when they’re struggling for sleep, Loki will position him so that he’s lying on his back in the center of the bed, and he’ll rest his head on his shoulder and sit his hand atop his heart, where that hole used to be. Loki circles his fingers there until Tony tells him to stop or until he gets too tired to go on, and Tony knows that he’s seeing the arc reactor where there’s only skin and muscle. Tony’s ancient self was never nearly as subtle as Loki’s, and Loki’s wasn’t even that subtle to begin with.

Sometimes, Loki gets really upset. Sometimes Tony does, too. Sometimes they just get so  _tired_ , and thankfully, they tend to do this around the same time. They’ll get in Loki’s-their-the bed and sleep all afternoon and all night long, and Tony will wonder how he ever slumbered on his own before he and Loki decided that it was no use ignoring something that had been plaguing their minds for a year and a half.

And isn’t it funny that Loki was the only one to agree with him at first? They’re all scared people, but Tony likes to think that he and Loki are the bravest of them for confronting their memories first – that is, if you’d even begin to consider sharing a bed and having sex every night for two weeks to be confrontation.  _Tony_  does. Loki does, too.

Sometimes, Tony asks Loki what he’d think if Pepper or Steve were the people he chose. Loki just tells him he can’t answer that question because things didn’t happen that way, tells him that he needs to ask that to a different Loki, a Loki that didn’t have him in his bed. Loki doesn’t like  _if_ ’s very much. Loki is also very cynical, and Tony can understand that a hell of a lot because he’s the same. They all are, in their own ways. The only one of them who isn’t is Thor, but Loki tells Tony that it only seems that way because Thor’s good at hiding all the ugly parts of himself.

Sometimes, Tony and Loki will sit around and speculate and gossip about their household. Tony tells Loki that Steve told him that everybody thinks all they do is have sex because they don’t fancy leaving his-their-the room that often, and Loki tells Tony that he thinks Steve and Thor are fucking, or at least holding hands when nobody else can see them. Tony tells Loki that Gwen wants to move out because Peter chose Mary Jane over her for what seems like the third time but is only the first, really, and Loki tells Tony that Steve and Natasha haven’t stopped looking for Bucky, that their search seems to get harder for them every time Clint isn’t there to help them. Tony tells Loki that Pepper wants to be his best friend, and Loki asks Tony what’s stopping her. Tony tells Loki it’s  _him_  that’s stopping her, and Loki crawls back into Tony’s lap and kisses him into forgetfulness.

Sometimes, Tony will pore over their birth certificates and laugh at the dates.  _October 7 th, 1996_ and  _November 11 th, 1996_ and  _March 23 rd, 1995_ and  _February 19 th, 1995_. He knows that they’re much older than those files say they are, and he only talks about this with Steve because he knows Loki will get all incensed and confrontational and get in fights with Thor if he goes to him.

Once, Tony told Loki he wanted to paint his whole body blue, and Loki glared at him and told him they didn’t have enough money for that, which was basically his way of saying that he didn’t appreciate Tony’s elusive reminder of the monster he used to be. Tony didn’t say sorry to him, just kissed the side of his neck, a place that calms the other no matter what, a place where apologies are always accepted and moments of passion are sometimes started.

Sometimes, Tony forgets himself. It’s always Loki’s fault when he manages to lose his mind, and he always loses it in the shadows of the other’s cheekbones or the valleys of his hips or the curve of his backbone. He’ll thank Loki for stealing that part of him when they’re lying in the dim, blue light of Loki’s lava lamp, and Loki will never hesitate to thank him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	26. Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something about getting touched by Clint that makes Steve just a little crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for my darling Heather, and it's part of the Psych Ward AU I started somewhere up there. From here on out, I'm calling this Complexities.

There’s something about getting touched by Clint that makes Steve just a little crazy. Not insane, reason-to-get-institutionalized _crazy_ ; just frantic, grind-your-bones-together-and-grit-your-teeth-because-it-kind-of-feels-good _crazy_. He doesn’t realize how much every brush of skin matters to him until he finds himself lying in bed thinking about how he couldn’t have possibly survived the day without Clint letting his hand linger on his shoulder longer than the necessary five or six seconds a moment of admiration would warrant, until he’s considering the fact that Clint really isn’t a touchy-feely person around _anyone_ besides him or Natasha (if she lets the man get close enough, that is), until he’s realizing that all that weird physical contact makes him feel special in the oddest way, in a way that doesn’t focus on uniqueness or anything inherently amazing about him, in a way that says _you matter to a sociopath – good for you_.

And sometimes, the way Clint will stare at him from across the lunch table with an apple slice from Loki’s tray or a French fry from Tony’s pinched between his fingers will have Steve absolutely mad with something he never felt around Peggy. Sometimes, when Clint grabs him by the neck and wrestles him into a half-embrace, Steve’s mind will actually convince him of the fact that Bucky never made him feel so part of an alliance, so part of a _bond_. Sometimes, when he’s sitting sandwiched between Clint and Loki and they’re waiting for Tony to fucking _roll_ already, Clint will look at him and they’ll both remember at the exact same time that they’re insane, and they’ll laugh together, quiet and like they’ve been exchanging glances and chuckling softly with one another for years instead of a month, and then Clint will slide his fingers over his and Steve will feel keep-yanking-at-my-hair-because-I-really-fucking-like-that _crazy_ again. Sometimes, when Tony’s out smoking with Loki on the fire escape, Clint will spend the last free minutes of the day with Steve, watching him scribble away in his sketchbook and making his rude, blunt comments that warm Steve to very the core of him – not the one that sits in his chest, but the one that’s deep in the pit of his stomach – and Clint will just rest his fingers at the place directly between his shoulders and say, “You’re a treasure, Stevie,” and Steve is content with staying in the ward for _years_ if it meant Clint could tell him that every night.

Sometimes, Clint asks Steve how long he thinks he’s going to stay, and Steve will tell him, “As long as you’re here,” and Clint will say that he’s staying for life, and Steve will reply, “That’s my answer, then.” Clint won’t question him or anything; he won’t even get upset, and even though Steve knows how irrational he sounds and how warped his thinking is when he’d rather remain in a place where he’s not even a normal person than go out and live a real life and how absolutely _fucked_ he is once he’s made such a drastically awful decision – Clint’s the only person that’s ever driven him further into insanity with his touch, the only person who hasn’t tried to ‘ _fix_ ’ him like he’s something that’s broken, and that makes him feel more at home than he ever did in reality. Maybe he _is_ crazy – not drive-a-wire-through-my-cheek-because-I-like-the-taste-of-blood _crazy_ ; just insane, you-have-a-fucking-complex, you-can’t-function-in-the-real-world-and-you-don’t-really-care _crazy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	27. Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all tell her she’s strong, that she’s independent and intelligent and fierce and sometimes a little scary, but Natasha knows that that’s not strength — that’s just costuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the Brothers!verse, because I love my asshole side characters as much as I do Loki and Thor and Tony.

There’s a part of her that refuses to give up, and she figures that it alone is evidence of any real strength she might have. They all tell her she’s strong, that she’s independent and intelligent and fierce and sometimes a little scary, but Natasha knows that that’s not  _strength_  — that’s just _costuming_.

The part of her that won’t give up on him is a gem, though, because theoretically, it shouldn’t even exist. Not after the life she’s seen. Not after every time she’s ever been given a reason to just cut him off. Not after she publicly agrees with every one of the people who call her  _strong_  and pin that idea like a badge to her everything. But that part  _does_  exist, and it makes Natasha feel like a titan, like she’s actually accomplished something worthwhile, when she’s disguising clinginess with comfort and she’s holding him — around his shoulders, where she can accidentally choke him if he tries to get away — letting herself come down from their latest argument on a parachute of meditation and  _strength_.

She decides she  _has_  to be strong if she can keep doing that and not fall apart. There will be a day when she’ll stop being strong, but for now, she can agree with everybody without lying too terribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	28. Pooh Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Open the door."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a semi-alternative Brothers!verse.

"Open the door."

He doesn't get a reply. He scowls.

"Steve, I'm going to eat your soup if you don't open the door," he pushes, carefully holding a near-overflowing bowl of chicken noodle-perfection and a spoon in one hand as he tries to budge the door out of its frame a second time. He isn't successful, and again, he's only greeted with silence.

"Do you have a fucking chair under the knob or something?" Thor asks, leaning against the doorframe and lifting a spoonful of soup and noodles into his mouth. Not thinking much of it, he helps himself to about three more tablespoons, carefully listening for any signs of life inside Steve's bedroom.

Still - he hears nothing.

"I like your soup," he says, idly playing with a couple slippery, steaming noodles with his spoon. "I think you'd like it, too."

Steve doesn't say anything.

"You know, soup is like, the only thing I know how to cook," Thor rambles on, pausing to ladle a chunk of chicken out of the bowl and chew on it. "That and pop-tarts — and toast — but I don't think pop-tarts and toast are supposed to be good for sick people." He thinks for a moment. "Maybe toast, though. I'll have to ask Loki about that."

Steve continues to stubbornly maintain his silence, and for a moment, Thor is almost afraid that something's gone wrong, that Steve could have somehow gotten hurt or choked to death or passed out or something in the complete and total safety of his own room. After considering the fact that the man's door is obviously being held closed, though, he disregards his worry and keeps eating.

"Maybe you should have had Clint take care of you," he muses. "I don't know how to nurse  _anything_." He chuckles softly. "Once, when Loki had a fever, I thought that it'd be a good idea to sit him outside in the snow, because he was so warm and all." Thor bends over to place his now empty bowl on the floor. "He got the flu after that."

There's a soft shuffling noise from inside Steve's room, then, but the door  _still_  doesn't move. Thor sighs.

"I ate all your soup, Eeyore," he says, dragging his knuckles along the wall. "I miss you."

That's when Steve opens the door, hair mussed, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, nose running. He looks at Thor, then at the bowl, then back at Thor, and it takes Thor a few seconds to realize that the man's gaze is indignant —  _pissed_ , even.

"You wouldn't open the do—" he starts to whine, only to be cut off by a pair of fingers pressed to his lips and a pout sad enough to drown every cute animal one could possibly think of.

"Pooh Bear," Steve says, grabbing Thor's wrist and tugging him into his room. "That's what we agreed on."

After the initial shock of basically being told to  _shut the fuck up_  has passed, Thor laughs, wholehearted and amused and absolutely  _smitten_ , following Steve to bed and conceding, "Of course, Pooh Bear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	29. No Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s good at doing this, she tells herself. All she has to do is roll out of bed, put her clothes on, grab her car keys, and get out. She’s done it a million times before — now should be no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a verse I haven't written in yet. It's going to turn into a larger story by the end of September, but for now, I'm just going to say that this is that verse where everyone is a party animal and in an open relationship with something humanoid. Sounds good?

She’s good at doing this, she tells herself. All she has to do is roll out of bed, put her clothes on, grab her car keys, and get out. She’s done it a million times before — now should be no different.

Now  _is_  different, though, especially since she’s more drunk than she’s  _ever_  been when they’ve done this, especially since everybody is  _down- **fucking** -stairs_, especially when Clint’s got his arms wrapped around her waist and he’s  _holding_  her where she is, as opposed to what he’s usually doing — rolling over and letting her go wherever she wants to after they’re done.

“Clint,” she says after they’ve been lying there for over five minutes. She has the decency to be embarrassed when she realizes that she’s going to have to tell Tony that his parents’ sheets are soiled.

“You want to go out there and dance with your boyfriend and act like none of this ever happened, right?” Clint asks her. He doesn’t sound bitter, but they’ve known each other since the seventh grade, and Natasha knows how to pick up on Clint’s mood almost better than she knows how to pick up on her own.

“Nobody’s acting like this doesn’t happen,” she sighs, pulling out of Clint’s embrace and sitting up so that she can run her fingers through her hair. “But  _yes_. I want to go out there and dance with my boyfriend.”

Clint is silent for a few moments, just staring at her in the darkness. Then he says, “What am I going to do?”

Natasha purses her lips. “Go find Thor or Steve,” she replies.

“They’re too busy tripping the light fantastic and sharing spit to pay attention to me,” Clint grumbles. His expression grows stormy a moment before Natasha’s leaning over and kissing his forehead, trailing her fingers down his chest.

“Sorry, babe,” she murmurs against his skin, sliding out of bed and stretching her arms over her head. “Try Fandral and Sif. Tony told me that the stuff they gave him had him seeing Jesus.”

Clint smirks at that. Natasha can’t help but smirk back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	30. Lumos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there Loki is, sitting at the edge of his bed with his eyes wide open and his whole body trembling. At first, Tony thinks it’s because of the cold, but he realizes not two seconds later that Loki wouldn’t be shivering from the chill in the air, not this late at night, when his dreams grow dreadful and sleep is a monster instead of a reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of that Harry Potter crossover verse. It's not the best quality - sorry.

”Tony.”

Tony gropes around in the darkness for his wand, and once he closes his fingers around it, he’s holding it up to Loki’s face and murmuring, “Lumos.”

And there Loki is, sitting at the edge of his bed with his eyes wide open and his whole body trembling. At first, Tony thinks it’s because of the cold, but he realizes not two seconds later that Loki wouldn’t be shivering from the chill in the air, not  _this_  late at night, when his dreams grow dreadful and sleep is a monster instead of a reprieve. 

Despite such foreknowledge, Tony asks, “What’s wrong?”, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing at his eyes.

“What’s been wrong for the past month,” Loki mumbles, crawling over to Tony and pushing his wand away. Tony starts to grumble out a complaint, but anything he might say gets lost in Loki’s mouth, every thought in his head evaporating once he realizes that his boyfriend is in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips and fingers pushing into his hair, and they’re in their dorm and he can hear Wade snoring at his left and Loki’s biting at his lips and  _god_ , Loki wants him now — he  _knows_ he does.

“Wait,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to hold Loki by his sides and squeeze. The look Loki gives him when he pulls away is almost murderous, and Tony has to remind himself that Loki’s a scary, almost feral creature, now, that Loki might just disappear in a plume of smoke if he gets upset enough, that Loki has been hating like he hasn’t hated anything ever before since December.

“We could get caught,” Tony says.

“I don’t care,” Loki growls, shoving Tony down against his mattress and pulling his old Quidditch jersey off of his slim frame. He’s still shaking — something Tony notes a bit fearfully as he tugs his own shirt off like a helplessly manipulated puppet.

“What will you do when you have to go home for the rest of the semester?” Tony questions, bracing his hands against Loki’s hips. He swallows thickly when Loki fixes him with the most venemous pair of eyes. “You know that’s where they’ll send you.”

That seems to break Loki down, if only a little, because every bit of tension in him melts away at the realization that he could be forced to stay with his not-parents much longer than he actually has to, that he could be forced to be away from Tony for  _months_  before the summer starts, and suddenly, he’s not an animal anymore. He’s just a scared little boy, pliant and pitiful, and guilt is something that’s kicking Tony square in the teeth right now.

“Here,” Tony urges, turning them so that he’s hovering over Loki. He presses his face into Loki’s neck, murmurs, “We’ll be quiet, okay?”

Loki is silent and still for a few moments, during which Tony smooths his hands down his sides and kisses along his collarbone. The tip of his wand casts an eerie, almost beautiful glow over Loki’s face, and the boy’s eyes look hollow and ghostly in the unnatural light.

 _They’d look hollow and ghostly in any light_ , Tony realizes.

Then Loki leans up and kisses him, his hands finding their place in his hair. It’s a yes if Tony ever knew one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	31. Video Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where’ve you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also part of a semi-alternative Brothers!verse, except not really, because Steve and Clint are canonically the gayest of gay for each other. They also live together. Enjoy yourself.

He watches him from the top of the stairs, unseen and unheard in the darkness, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth set in a tiny scowl. Clint locks the door with what Steve supposes is intended to be stealth, but Steve knows by the way it takes him four tries to get the latch closed that the man is drunk and that  _stealth_  couldn’t be farther from him.

Once Clint is almost halfway across the living room, Steve decides to speak up. His voice sounds unbearably loud in the silence despite the fact that he’s speaking at his default volume, which isn’t very high in the first place.

“Where’ve you been?”

It’s hilarious and sad, watching Clint start and nearly fall on his face at the surprise of his statement. Clint’s eyes whirl about the room before traveling upward and landing on where Steve’s standing.

“You scared the fuck outta me,” Clint sighs, sheepishly scratching at the short hair at the back of his head and stumbling over to the stairs.

“You don’t think you did the same?” Steve asks, easily catching the way Clint winces at his words. He repeats his question. “Where’ve you been?”

“Video store,” Clint replies, holding a plastic  _Blockbuster_  bag up for Steve’s inspection once he reaches the top of the stairs.

“And?” Steve pushes, choosing to ignore the bag for now.

“I might have found a liquor store or two,” Clint snarks, rolling his eyes when Steve scowls. He shoves the bag into Steve’s hands a bit unceremoniously, says, “That’s for you. I remembered how much you were fangirling over that the other day.”

“This doesn’t fix anything…” Steve grumbles before he’s even scoped out the contents of the bag, dead-set on staying angry at Clint until the man apologizes or something. As soon as he sees the VHS waiting for him, though, anything indignant inside him gives way to this childish, beautiful brand of joy that fills him up and makes him want to throw himself over the railing he’s so overwhelmed. His eyes widen.

“Happy early birthday,” Clint says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Steve can’t catch him by the shoulders and kiss him on the cheek fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	32. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need your help,” he says. Steve feels his words like they’re arrows in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ALSO part of a semi-alternative Brothers!verse. It ties into 'Sweetheart', and while I was writing this, I was thinking of it as an event that definitely has the potential to happen but ultimately won't. Steve still feels the way he does down here, though.
> 
> I don't know. Steve/Loki is a ship I sail so hard.

“I can get it myself,” Loki grumbles, slapping Steve’s hand away from his face and snatching the washcloth out of his grasp. Steve frowns a bit as Loki turns away from him to face the mirror, as he watches the man wipe bits of tomato and red juice off of his cheek and out of his eye.

“You have some in your hair,” he offers lamely, wincing when Loki scoffs at him.

“ _No_ , because I totally couldn’t see that,” Loki snaps, pausing to lift himself up onto the counter and fold his legs beneath him. Steve can’t help but think of a time when such treatment from Loki was something he expected, something he was so used to he couldn’t even bring himself to question it. The thought of  _that_  Loki — that hateful, angry Loki that he considers himself lucky not to know anymore — it makes Steve almost tired with sadness.

Sighing quietly, Steve reaches up to pick a chunk of tomato out of Loki’s hair. Loki flinches away from his hand like some kind of scared, untrusting animal at first, and  _God_  if that doesn’t have Steve wanting to strangle Logan, if that doesn’t have Steve wanting to strangle  _himself_  for ever giving Loki a reason to be a caged tiger of a person.

“I’m just trying to help,” he murmurs, tossing the tomato into the sink. Loki slumps a bit, closes his eyes.

“I don’t need your help,” he says. Steve feels his words like they’re arrows in his heart.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he replies. “I’m still going to give it to you.”

Loki doesn’t respond, just sits there and lets Steve rid his hair of tomato and finish cleaning the mess on his face. It’s not quite acceptance, but he’s not growling or fighting anymore, and Steve knows how to be thankful for what he’s given, even if what he’s given isn’t the most ideal, even if he’s thinking things like ‘ _Why does he have to be so stubborn?_ ’ and ‘ _Why the hell would anybody hurt him?_ ’ and ‘ _Tony is lucky_ ’.

When he’s done, he lets stupidity grab him and hold him long enough to let him press a long, gentle kiss to the crest of Loki’s cheekbone. He waits for Loki to hit him or scratch him or scream at him or  _something_ , but instead of getting an earful of anger and a heart full of lead, he gets two arms around his neck, a face pressed into his, and tears that don’t belong to him leaving a damp spot on his cheek.

It’s not quite acceptance, but Loki’s not pushing him away, and Steve knows how to be thankful for what he’s given, even if it’s only given to him when Loki’s broken enough to let him have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to give me requests, my dearests. Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> \- Gabi.


	33. System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve taps on the small glass window like he’s ready to punch it out, and when Clint’s eyes slowly whirl around to meet his, he sees life where he’s supposed to find absolute vacancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of Complexities and was the answer to a three-sentence prompt on Tumblr. c:

He’s curled up in the corner of the isolation room, body smaller and less formidable that it usually is when it’s stripped of civilian clothing and not constantly moving, constantly in your face, constantly threatening to attack you with its limbs and its voice and its eyes. Steve gulps at the sight of him, goes tense and still and almost weak with horror at the thought that this is what Fury and the rest of the staff think of as  _treatment_  — locking patients up until they’re ‘learned a lesson’ or ‘cooled down’, like they’re children instead of adults, like they don’t have thoughts and feelings and don’t have real concerns or real anything, like they’re experiments, like they’re chess pieces, just waiting to be played and then knocked down, just waiting to be —

Steve taps on the small glass window like he’s ready to punch it out, and when Clint’s eyes slowly whirl around to meet his, he sees life where he’s supposed to find absolute vacancy.


	34. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s come to realize that she smokes more often when she’s stressed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my wonderful [Paula](http://www.begonepigeons.tumblr.com) has created a verse where everyone is a hipster, and, being something of a hipster myself and oddly fascinated with her art and everything about the subculture, have taken it upon myself to narrate. This verse will show up quite a bit in the future if things go according to plan.

He’s come to realize that she smokes more often when she’s stressed out, that her habit becomes intense enough to rival that of Tony’s when she’s gotten to the point where she’s about to break inside, and it’s  _sad_  to him, really, depressing that she’d stay silent and static and completely unchanged but for the amount of tobacco she pollutes her lungs with when  _really_ , she’s on the verge of shattering.

So he decides to make her cramped apartment his home when the smoke starts to reach the floor that is her heart and her mind, and he decides to kiss the web on the back of her neck a little more often than he usually does, and he decides to give her everything she wants  _except_  for her poisonous cancer sticks, and he decides to sleep closer to her heart until it beats slower than hummingbird fast.

Natasha doesn’t thank him verbally, but Clint knows she’s grateful as soon as she starts smiling again.


	35. Guile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s suddenly aware of the fact that he’s made the worst mistake you can make on the job, and that he’s about to die at the hands of an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the answer to a three-sentence prompt on Tumblr and in a universe where Clint is part of the mafia and Natasha is his hit(?). I'm not sure if I'm going to write much more for this.

“Please,” she whimpers, limp and wrecked in his hold, the only point of tension in her being her hands, which are currently wrapped around his arm. He’s stuck staring at her — this atomic bomb of a person, this woman that is supposedly one of his most fatal enemies, this breathtakingly  _gorgeous_   ** _girl_** , all wild red hair and clear blue eyes and pouty pink lips and  _no_  — she  _couldn’t_  be anything too dangerous, couldn’t seriously be someone that deserves to die — she’s too beautiful and pure.

It’s a half-second after Clint’s loosened his grip on her neck only the slightest bit that this  _beautiful_ ,  ** _innocent_** woman has him pinned to the ground with a gun at his throat and her knee against his groin, and he’s suddenly aware of the fact that he’s made the worst mistake you can make on the job, and that he’s about to die at the hands of an angel.


	36. Favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I couldn’t risk losing my favorite pet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift for my Clint and is part of the con-man AU I wrote about a million years ago.
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention that this is a songfic based off of "Counting the Bodies Like Sheep" by Perfect Circle.

He’s pretty sure he’s gone deaf by the time it’s over, that he’s lost the ability to hear anything but gunshots by the time Loki’s finished blowing the heads off of every last officer in the warehouse. He can’t force himself to look away from their bodies, their limbs splayed across the ground in a grotesque picture of death and perfect little holes shot between each and every one of their eyes like signatures Loki’s left on them. In the back of his mind is the nagging, horrifying thought that they’re a whole new class of rogues, now, that this time, there won’t be any hopskotching across America to find a new state to wreak havoc in, that  _this time_ , they’ve become national criminals and they won’t stop until they’re in another country or they have poison in their veins, and he knows that there’s no way he’s seeing Natasha or Steve ever again, no way he’s going back to being a normal guy after this,  _no **fucking** way _he’s anything but Loki’s dog anymore, and he regrets ever waltzing into this man’s game in the first place, regrets being anything but good for the past three years, regrets —

“You have blood on your face, love,” Loki is telling him, breaking him out of the cage of his mind. He only hears the man once he’s wiping said blood from his cheek with the corner of his hankerchief, and his voice is bouncing around the inside of his head and his face is without a blemish or a stain and his eyes are alight with something akin to glee but a whole lot more like madness, and Clint doesn’t know what to do but just stand there and let Loki clean his face like it’s been dirtied with food and not the blood of the police officers lying dead around them.

It’s only after they’re miles and hours away from the warehouse that he thinks to ask, “Why’d you save me?”, and  _really_ , he regrets speaking  _at all_  when the air conditioner is subartic-high and his ears are being filled with Loki’s soft, melodious,  _terrifying_  laughter and he’s got three pale, elegant fingers ghosting over the line of his jaw, promising possession.

“I couldn’t risk losing my favorite pet,” is Loki’s answer.


	37. Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not sure how they start holding hands on their walks home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of the hipster!verse and for my lovely [Paula](http://www.begonepigeons.tumblr.com).
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention that this is a songfic based off of "Nightwalker" by Thiago Pethit.

He’s not sure how they start holding hands on their walks home.

Well, that’s a lie. He remembers the night Loki told him about how he and Thor used to hold hands always and everywhere until the other boys told them that they were queers and sacreligious for doing so, and even after he figured out that  _yeah_ , he was a pretty queer guy and  _no_ , there isn’t an old man in the sky that tells him he shouldn’t be twining his fingers with another boy — even if that boy is his brother and the closest thing to a friend he has — he couldn’t bring himself to hold hands with anyone after he and Thor stopped. And he remembers how they were waiting at the intersection of Winter and Main when Loki ended that story, how Loki had to grab him by the back of his jacket and pull him back onto the sidewalk to keep him from blindly walking into traffic like the spaz he is, how Loki laughed at him and asked him, “Do you have a death wish or are you just blind?”

And he remembers just grabbing Loki’s hand and waiting for the little white man with  **WALK**  flashing beneath his legs to show up on the other side of the street in response.

And so they hold hands on the way home after that. They never do when they walk to work, but when they’re returning to their apartment building, it’s second nature for Tony to twine his fingers with Loki’s while he’s telling him something ridiculous or when Loki’s in the middle of one of the many rants he likes to spew, and Tony thinks that maybe he never takes Loki’s hand while they’re walking in silence because he’s afraid of talking about it, because he likes just being able to have that point of physical contact between them without noislessness making it mean anything, because Loki has a thing about forcing him to analyze anything and everything and he can’t very well do that when they’re already in the middle of a conversation.

And when Tony finds himself a bottle of alcoholic substance X and lights cigarette number Y when he’s holed up in the security of his own room, he’ll think about Loki’s fingers and how they feel like they haven’t done anything but write for the past few years. And he realizes that he can only think about Loki happily while he’s intoxicated, because if he’s anywhere near sober and the man crosses his mind, he ends up depressed and frustrated and oh so very confused, and nothing about those wide green eyes makes sense until he’s around his third glass of scotch and Pepper has stopped checking on him to make sure he hasn’t killed himself.

And Tony’s mind is trying to consolidate and examine and rationalize all of this — the hand-holding and the alcohol and Loki’s lack of belief and the incessant talking and the little white man that screams at them to  **WALK**  — when Loki’s in his lap and his lips are searching for his, and Tony isn’t the least bit drunk, but Loki’s on his mind and he’s feeling more than elated.


End file.
